


Real Hounds

by Reera the Red (nimmieamee)



Series: The Family Skeleton [2]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Epistolary, Racism, all credit to the Mitfords
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-03-24
Updated: 2015-08-10
Packaged: 2017-12-06 08:05:25
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 12,615
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/733409
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nimmieamee/pseuds/Reera%20the%20Red
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In the summer of 1966, the Black children meet a remarkable guest.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. prologue

**Author's Note:**

> This is the sequel to [The Comfortable Wound](http://archiveofourown.org/works/720457/chapters/1335630). The Black family sections featured every other chapter can probably stand on their own as a kind of epistolary horror novella, though.

12 Grimmauld Place, London  
5 August 1966

Darling Cissy,

Today a very stupid Mulch left a handkerchief on a window box that peeks into the garden. Burgie roared at him to get out & said never would he or his darken her door again, then we all had to sit down to an absolutely silent meal because the slightest thing would set her off about youthful carelessness & the decline in old families & takeover by ANIMAL filth, etc. Ignatius Prewett tried to calm her down by speaking of how one must keep to the old diets & eat nothing but pumpkin products to maintain peak magical perfection (Drom: Inter-esting, this must be why Lucretia married him), & Burgie said well I suppose I’m a BEAST without my sausages.

I will never get like that; if I do we know the magic letters are A & K. Do the honors if you must.  

Dolph & Rab are here every day although we hardly want them. I’ve had to turn Dolph down twice. At one point Snuff cornered him & said, She cannot be an Unspeakable & have a silly little husband dithering about. Go find someone of your own LOW CALIBER, Rottodolphus.

Clever boy! He was frightfully angry & demolished some of my hatpins for some reason, but I couldn’t stay angry after he’d leSacked Mr. leStrange. Your little sheik is alright I think but rather quiet, the male thinks he’s stupid. Poor dear there is one every generation these days, it’s the lack of pumpkin or so I hear. Well I’m off to dinner. Bella

[oh I must add an edit] The Malfoys came by & Lucius asked after you. Dromda: Oh, she couldn’t be here because she had to do her Hogwarts shopping, the silly little thing still hasn’t grown enough to fit into mine & Bricks’s old robes. She will probably sort Hufflepuff anyway. Lucius: I think not. All accounts suggest she’s finally growing into her blood!  
He still finds you divine, aren’t you lucky. He’s nice as ever but you know I think rather boring, came with Burgie’s friend who is called VOLDEMORT can you imagine. The male didn’t like it because it sounds foreign but oh Cissy there is a wizard.  
-

12 Grimmauld Place, London  
5 August 1966

Derest Blonty,

We had an awfuly odd gest today Snufels says to say o not your pompus malfoe. It was a frend of Burjes who mit be french but Burje says you noe not so bad for a frog & he has the rit ideis. Snufels made a sekrit sossiaty the VYKNGS I am in it so is Creechr we had a mishun to get Bibe’s pins. Then Snufels got in truble for puting them into fier & cudint come down to meet the gests but I cud. wel he had a snak & the snak was eksitting so was the food PUMMPINCAK. that is the best. It is gud as Creechr.  
love love love love love your faverit baby BEE

ps Drops says you will be in huflpuf nekt month you are a soft tuch. oh Blonty DONT!

psps dont foreget my birday  
-

12 Grimmauld Place, London  
6 August 1966

Wuh:

Writing because Burgie is making me. you like to see me more than you like reading these boring old letters, admit. admit. Do you see I’ve shortened your nickname it is less mean that way Drops said you cried when you heard what I was calling you oh what a way to let down the family, Wuh. Here is a clipping from the Prophet:

FAIR-HAIRED WITCH MURDERED BY MAD RELATIONS

> This morning the lovely Ms. Narcissa Black who is blonde and not Black at all, did discover that in fact her real father was Abraxas Malfoy. She burst into a torrent of tears as this would make it illegal for her to marry her beloved, the very boring Lucius Malfoy, of Wiltshire.  
>  “But, but our children will be ever so pure that way,” she wailed, “And at least I’m not a half-blood!”  
>  Although Ms. Black’s mad aunt Walburga agreed, and was now seven million percent in favor of the match because she has always declared that siblings ought to marry one another or possibly merge into one perfect pure being, her sisters and terribly handsome cousin Sirius could not stand the noise and so they administered the Killing Curse as she wept. All the family will be taken to Azkaban soon except for little Regulus, who is very dull and whom raiding Aurors mistook for an antimacassar.

Like Dropsbody says when all her friends are by, YOU MUST SAY ITS CLEVER. Burgie will send stinging hexes my way when she reads it though oh well Bibby says hounds are not afraid of stings. Probably in a few years I will be as funny as Bibby and the toast of Slytherin like Drops. Probably you will be a Hufflepuff. You ought to leave when they sort you there, do not worry soon after we will send Araby to you via owl post since he will be a Hufflepuff too. You can both live in a tiny cottage in DISGRACE.

Thanks for the six sickles. Cheered me up when I couldn’t even go meet the snake man did you hear. What a shame. I love snakes, I’m sure we would have been friends. Love from Snuffles the Great  
-

12 Grimmauld Place, London  
9 August 1966

Nar here I am writing to you at last:

No reason to write, really. I don’t think anyone here is dead, except maybe 2 who never says anything except to his nursemaid elf, what a bore I hate children. Either they fail to entertain one (2) or one must entertain them if they are not to blow up the house (Snuff). Snuffles is permanently angry about something, Burgie is proud & says it is only his personality, what a delight the child is. Did you hear he shortened your nickname to WWH and now just says Wuh? I expect he is a lazy sort.

My friend Elty left some parchment on a window box & Burgie swore to ban everyone from visits but I talked her down to just the Mulches. Even that is silly but I suppose it’s better here than home, Bricks & I have started taking detours to Bully’s place in Knockturn whenever we’re out & this lovely fellow who went to school with Burgie & Lucretia has his headquarters nearby. He left England for a bit to find his wizarding relations, Burgie says in France & that’s why he’s now called Voldemort. What a story, the male doesn’t think it’s true but you must say it’s a nice bit of fiction to let one have a name like that. I’m sure Lucius has already written to tell you about him, if not probably you are too young & he’s bored of you already oh well. You can always marry a Prewett, they ARE hard-up.

My Bricks is gone on Voldemort & you know no one is good enough for her so it is awfully funny. But really he’s a wonder, has such big ideas for the Ministry, we told him how one day I will head the MLE & Bricks will take the Dept.ofMysteries (& you will have nine million blond tots somewhere in a falling-down house) & he said it suited rather well, the establishment needs people like us. Such a dear, Bricks & I will be going with the Mulches & Tracer & Lectie & Risky & Rab & Dolph & Naughty Nott to a speech he is giving. SPECIAL INVITATION for us, how nice though not really because everyone who is anyone got one. Pity you are too young my Nary-a-sis.

& so sorry to hear of Mum making you go to the Malkins near us, what a HORROR. It is Twilfit & Tattings in London or nothing but I expect Bricks & I will find a way to kit you out properly when we get home. Can you come for 2’s birthday? It is the only thing we can get him to talk about, do give the boy that broomstick & I will even charm it so Snuffles can’t break it, maybe a hobby will liven 2 up.

Respectfully yrs.  
Yr. disrespectful Meddles  
-

Alconleigh, Oxfordshire  
11 August 1966

Darlingest and bestest sisters,

Alphard has offered to take me over for Ally’s birthday! What a puffskein he is, I do love him. Meds will you charm the broom, really? It cost all my pocket-money though so please nothing experimental.

Lu didn’t write. I expect busy with summer work for school & anyway he has to make sure I’m Slytherin which I will be. Though really I don’t know why I can’t stay home, I have a terror of Hogwarts & to show up in Malkins robes will be the worst, Pug Parkinson will have a field day. Did you know she came by & said Lu named a peacock after her. He told me all his peacocks were to be MINE so that is awfully funny, one tries to like her but whoa is it a losing battle. 

I’ve met Voldemort already because he came by with the Borgins. He tutored Begonia Borgin & the Dolohov boy & took them to Albania. I expect it was extraordinary for them. He is terrific, a real hound. He wrote a pamphlet, Struggles of the Blood. It sounds rather thrilling but Alphard says all sociopolitical hogwash. Still I think I will ask Father to get me a copy unless one of you darlings already has it & is willing to lend to the dear Nar-sis, hint hint. He has foreign relations, but what does that matter. Even if secretly part Grindylow you still only have to hear him talk to know that he is like Lu & us, devoted to the wizarding world.

I will see you lovelies soon enough but now I have to go make sure Pippy feeds Cruppins properly. Bella did you know she’s had a litter, you ought to give one to Snuffles. He wrote me the dearest owl, so funny, though Alphard didn’t like it & says we ought to encourage him to be nicer to people & that he’ll be talking to Burgie about it. I hope I haven’t gotten Snuff into trouble, if I have tell him I‘m sorry & that I expect he’ll be the most successful of us, sure to make his mark on the world by age 20 or so. He is such dear impatient little tyrant I can’t think otherwise. Give my love to him & my favorite little Ally.

All my love,  
Nar-Cissy


	2. Chapter 2

George, still missing his brother, now and always, not that he’d acknowledge that the missing would go on for _always_ , had found a potion to reanimate cadavers and a curse to transform the living into something like reanimated cadavers. He was concerned because if the resurrection stone were to come into contact with a reanimated cadaver created from, well, a cadaver, then perhaps there might be no change at all or perhaps it would simply un-animate the cadaver. What did she think?

“I think it’s pretty disgustingly Dark either way,” Ginny said.

Kreacher put in that it was absolutely Dark, and also that any experimentation would have to be done in the garden because he would not have any corpses in the house. Corpses upset Poor Dear Brave Now-Living Master Regulus.

Kreacher was dusting some of the more terrifying ancient spell books. Poor Dear Brave Now-Living Master Regulus did not generally care about the state of the books, it was true, but privately Kreacher felt that it was his duty to keep an eye on the blood-traitors in the library.

George said, “The line between Dark and not-Dark is thin, Gin.”

“I think the fact that the line is there is really the important thing,” Ginny said.

Kreacher found this hilarious. So did George. They found that someone who was so quick with a bat-bogey hex, itself a minor form of Dark Magic, in fact had no broomstick to fly with when it came to this particular topic. Ginny pointed out that a bat-bogey hex couldn’t hurt someone severely. There was a difference between hurling bogeys at someone and making a carcass of them.

“Blood-traitors is always looking for justifications,” sighed Kreacher.

George didn’t even bother to speak up in Ginny’s defense.

Once, he’d been very happy to switch sides in an argument if it meant supporting his fellow Weasleys. That was the family way. Ginny had always liked this; it was her favorite thing about being a Weasley. Other people might think that they were poor and a disgrace, but what did that matter if they never did? The Weasleys had a certain defiant pride, with Fred and George being more defiantly proud than the rest. Sure, they’d needled her from time to time, but when other people pointed out that she was freckled and wore dumpy clothes and had once nearly been murdered by a notebook, they were always the first to defend her, usually by turning the offender into a stoat or their tongues into masses of earthworms or by setting them on fire. And then sometimes they even taught her how to do this herself. People like her parents and Percy and Charlie and Bill and Ron usually took it as a given that she would be defenseless most of the time. In fact she ought to be. She was Our Precious Ginny, coddled and cherished above the rest. Only Fred and George had assumed otherwise, and, without a hint of resentment, gladly helped her to be something more.

George now had his head buried in an enormous spellbook. If he’d heard Kreacher’s comment, he certainly didn’t give any indication of it. Ginny had a sudden urge to be wherever George was not.

She went to the garden. Regulus kept some truly ancient brooms there and had made Kreacher weed out the ones that Bibby had cursed because Blonty had caught the snitch before her or because Blonty had kept her from scoring with Quaffle or because Blonty had been chosen for the same Slytherin team that had kicked Bibby off two years before for being too aggressive. Evidently Bellatrix and Narcissa had once spent their summers playing venomous, jealousy-motivated Quidditch.

Unsurprising.

Ginny sorted through Cleansweeps that flew too slowly, useless Swiftsticks, and Comets that listed to the right. Near the back of the shed she found brooms with some promise: two very well-maintained early Nimbuses, a 1000 and a 1500. When she reached for the 1500, a horrible pinching sensation crawled up her arm. She gasped and dropped it. Maybe that one was cursed and Kreacher had missed it somehow. She went for the 1000 instead. As soon as she touched it, she was blasted out of the broom shed. She landed in a patch of borage and, for an instant, saw the hazy image of a young girl with wide blue eyes and thick, fair hair. 

“Meddles,” the girl said patiently, “I’ve told you very specifically not to touch it.”

Then she disappeared.

“Yes, well, you’re hardly worth listening to,” said a voice from somewhere near the house. It was Andromeda Tonks. She gave Ginny an arch look, summoned Kreacher, tossed the baby at him and waved him away immediately afterwards, and went to offer Ginny a hand up.

“She was absolutely vile even as a very small child,” she told Ginny seriously. “Her precious little Nimbus ought to be used as kindling.”

Then she kindly helped Ginny back into the house. She asked after Regulus as she did so. Ginny said that he and Harry had gone to the Ministry, and Andromeda assumed an expression of complete distaste.

“Stupid!” Andromeda said. “Clearly he still has the mental capacity of a two-year-old.”

“He really doesn’t. He’ll get off easy,” Ginny said. “He doesn’t even have the Mark anymore.”

Ginny had walked in on him yesterday and seen his bare wrist. Regulus had explained that Harry had graciously offered to confirm this to the Minister. Then Harry had insisted that they go see him in _person_ , probably because Harry couldn’t figure out how to not involve himself in shocking and mysterious goings-on now that the war was ended. Shocking and mysterious goings-on were Harry’s specialty.

“He doesn’t have the Mark?” Andromeda said. “Then he’s only doing it for her. What an imbecile.” She collapsed on the nearest sofa and demanded that Kreacher fetch a minor healing potion for Ginny and several stiff drinks for her, please none with any of that damned pumpkin in it. She’d stopped eating it years ago on principle. By now she simply couldn’t stomach the taste.

“I’m not one for your cousin Prewett’s ideas,” she remarked. Ginny hastened to tell her that no, he really wasn’t just her cousin. He was also Andromeda’s cousin, and frankly the Blacks could keep him if they liked. Andromeda said not to be silly; that Ginny’s brother Percy was Ignatius incarnate; that Ignatius was tied to her family only by marriage, and on that count really only to the boys, not to her or Bricks or that bitch (these persons were not immediately identified; Ginny deduced that she meant her sisters); and that she couldn’t speak for the Blacks, having tossed them out of her life years ago.

Ginny pointed out that she was still making visits to Grimmauld Place.

Andromeda scowled.

“I have to put the baby somewhere,” she said. “I can’t just hang him on one of Ted’s old coat racks and leave him there while I’m in the office. Why are you here, then?”

Ginny almost decided to tell her as little as possible. Andromeda looked too much like Bellatrix for comfort, and also she had a vein of callous carelessness in her that echoed the twins at their worst. It had revealed itself clearly when she’d been telling Harry about Sirius and his mum. But Ginny knew better than anyone that you could be callous and careless and still wonderful, as the twins were, and anyway Andromeda had been very attentive to her in the garden. So she explained about George.

“He and Fred were close,” Andromeda said.

“Obviously. Twins,” said Ginny. “Fred wouldn’t leave him beyond the veil, if things were different. And George thinks the Resurrection Stone might do the trick.”

“Sometimes people go to places you can’t bring them back from,” Andromeda said. She drained the drink that Kreacher had brought her. Then she added that she’d give nearly anything to see the story of the resurrection stone’s power debunked, anyway, as Beedle’s tales were insufferably didactic and historical accounts of the Peverells confirmed that in fact all three of them had been horrible people and generally meaningless in the grand scheme of things, having left the world a stick and a rock and a rubbishy bit of cloth, all with a whole host of problems attached to them.

“Those are Harry’s ancestors, and also his stick, rock, and cloth,” Ginny said.

“So what? Sooner or later you have to find out that your ancestors were horrible and meaningless and that they left the world nothing but problems.”

“I must be getting on in my legilimency,” said Ginny, “Because I can almost detect that you’re upset about something, Andromeda.”

She absolutely was.

“Let me tell you about Nar,” she said, addressing Ginny. “You’ve got a sister tucked away somewhere among all those brothers, don’t you?”

Answer in the negative. Ginny wished she did; if it had been six girls and a boy then Mum and Dad might have more sense about, well, everything. Probably everyone would be a lot more sensible. No one would worry especially about Ginny all the time. As it was, she posed a distinctive problem because she was Mum’s only girl.

“Did you parents want a girl rather desperately?” Andromeda said, somewhat laughingly.

Ginny nodded.

“Really?” said Andromeda. _Her_ parents hadn’t at all. After the first two, they’d pinned all their hopes on the third being a boy. When she’d dared to be female, their mother could hardly bear to look at her and their father didn’t speak to her until she was five months old. Everyone cried. They left it to Burgie’s male to name her, which he did by flipping to a random page in _Comicono Menclatury’s Aptronyms for Magical Infants_. It was a miracle she hadn’t ended up a Gumersinda or an Ammonia.

At this point Ginny had to ask which sister she meant because both of them had pretty terrible names.

“Which one do you think? The lucky one, of course. Even then, Walburga cackled about how her stars were better than everyone else’s. Pippy swore on his tea towel that no matter what happened she would always come up trumps in the end. And now I suppose our dear Mrs. Malfoy _will_.

“For my part,” Andromeda continued, “I’d like to see her and the husband in Azkaban alongside all the other Death Eaters, but there’s no hope for it. They’re terrific Winners. They Win at everything, trust me. And the rest of us are all life’s Losers.”

Then, without prompting, she outlined everything that Narcissa believed. Well, darling, a central problem were the half-breeds, which ought to know better than to survive beyond the cradle because when they did the foolish Ministry spent all its time focusing on them instead of on the people who mattered, i.e. Nar’s people. If you ever meet her, darling, be sure to tell her that you’re going to marry a centaur and have four-legged infants. Also there are the gobs. Absolutely she hates the gobs. The gobs take everyone’s money, greedy things. The best way to rile her is to speak to her in gobbledegook; Ted did it once, when we came across her in Diagon Alley, and she went completely white and nearly fainted. Terrific.

“Go on,” Ginny said, “I’m taking notes.”

Well, then there are of course muds. Nar hates them because she thinks the wizarding world’s resources are being squandered on them. Oh no, it’s not the pure-bloods with their twelve-course pumpkin meals and their habit of jealously guarding magical knowledge that’s the problem; it’s mudbloods. Mudbloods coming in from outside and taking everything, how awful. The wizarding world ought to belong to wizards; and the only wizards are those born solely to wizards. And witches, I don’t know, Nar’s never been clear on that. Her & Peacock Lucy’s main point is that certain things go to muds some of the time, and this means that nice children like the adored Draco only get that which his ancestors have hoarded over the years. He doesn’t get everything. Only about ninety percent. It kills Nar when she and hers only get ninety percent, honestly, it does. It makes her scream with rage.

“Well,” Andromeda admitted, after a minute, “Not scream, exactly. She prides herself on having a Beautiful Character to match her Beautiful Face. So she never, ever screams. Instead she’s sort of vapid and careless about everything, even when it annoys her. She thinks making too much of a fuss about things ruins the complexion.”

Andromeda didn’t seem that upset in the telling of this; at certain points she seemed to be positively enjoying herself. But there was no doubt that she hated her sister.

“I take it you wouldn’t reach beyond the veil for Narcissa,” Ginny said.

“Darling, I would push her _in_ ,” Andromeda said.

She looked as though she had more to add, but by that point Kreacher popped in. Master Regulus had arrived, and also our guest Harry Potter who’d given Kreacher the stone and so freed him from the torment of serving a lesser man than Master Regulus. Andromeda jumped up and greeted her cousin with, “I don’t suppose you received my letter.”

“Oh,” Regulus said distractedly, “You wrote. I suppose one can’t give up the day for lost just yet.”

“Don’t be so sure,” Andromeda said.

Kreacher fetched Andromeda’s letter and Regulus read it through. He shot his cousin a miserable look.

“Whatever’s got you looking like that is your own fault; you’ve gone and muddled again because you’ve all the sense of a flobberworm,” Andromeda said, “And I suppose I can blame Nar as well. I hate Nar so tremendously that I just can’t help it.”

Then the enormous clock Kreacher had installed in the hall began to chime, and she cursed. She was late. Nar’s fault, because why not?

“I’m off to scream at Kingsley Shacklebolt,” Andromeda said determinedly. “I have no doubt that he let those manticores get one over on him. He’s always been a duffer in the extreme. Well, tell Harry Potter to take good care of the baby.”

Regulus opened his mouth to respond, but Andromeda had already stepped out to the stoop and Apparated away. He told Ginny instead. Harry planned to leave.

“Why?” Ginny said.

“I’m afraid I’m not the pleasant soul he thought I was,” was all Regulus would say.

Ginny went upstairs to investigate this. She found Harry shrinking his things and packing them away.

“Regulus is a vile little liar,” Harry said.

He’d never needed Harry’s help; he didn’t even have a Dark Mark and would have been easily cleared at trial. He’d used Harry to get Draco Malfoy free because Malfoy was his cousin.

“Andromeda suggested as much,” Ginny said, “And I thought you knew about the Dark Mark. What did you think I was trying to tell you yesterday?”

Harry stared at her. Then it seemed that something inside him burst, and he said, “Why didn’t you _tell_ me?”

“I did. I told you that the business of clearing his name was settled,” Ginny pointed out.

Harry opened his mouth. Then he thought the better of whatever he was going to say and closed it.

“Regulus is manipulating us,” he said tightly. “We have to leave.”

“You have to, maybe,” Ginny said. “I’m not going anywhere without George, and he’s not going anywhere soon.”

Grimmauld Place had a fantastically evil library, and also Kreacher still had the resurrection stone.

“George will leave if you do,” Harry insisted. Also, he seemed to think Ginny ought to leave either way. She would be safer at home with her parents, less likely to be caught up in the intrigues of the Malfoy-Blacks.

“You know the thing about intrigues, Harry,” Ginny said, “Is that loads of people avoid getting caught up in them if they don’t go after them with the kind of grim determination that you do. I’ll be staying with my brother, thanks.” She stomped downstairs to find George before Harry could answer. Harry didn’t follow this time.  

George was still dog-earing the pages of his priceless and evil grimoire. He had about seven feet of parchment full of meticulous notes, and his one ear was coated in ink. Ginny thought Fred wouldn’t’ve liked to see him this way. She sat down next to him and said, “Maybe he’s happy wherever he is.”

“That’s the sort of thing people say so that they can forget,” George said. “Like Harry and his train platform.”

“What’s so bad about forgetting?” Ginny said.

George said nothing, to a lot of people. But those people weren’t close to anyone the way he’d been close to Fred. You couldn’t ever let yourself forget someone that had been a part of you like that.


	3. Chapter 3

12 Grimmauld Place, London  
23 December 1968

Oh my Bricks why must one of us always spend Yule at home & why is Nar so dreadfully faithless, insisting on going off with Malfoys so you have to do it. Ought to be her home & you here. Really family is a trial, an early lesson of life’s unfairness. Snuffles knows, all he does is stomp about declaring “It’s unfair!” because Burgie is forever sending him dashing up the stairs with stinging hexes, usually just when some very interesting guest like VOLDEMORT has arrived.

& 2 declares nothing at all because he hasn’t learned to talk yet, they all ignore him anyway & leave him to that elf of his, Burgie doesn’t love him half as much as Snuffles. Alphard came by & was in a mood about it, then he asked me about Nar. I didn’t point out that he is much the same with her, rather good of me. People always hate what they themselves are guilty of, well I despise powerful witches.

Drom  
-

12 Grimmauld Place, London  
23 December 1968

My dearest Bricks,

Just kidding. Of course I must tell about yr. wonderful Lord, it’s just that wicked Drom loves to tease. He looks worn, the male says the Ministry are beginning to crack down on him. So funny, the ancient turtles in power can barely run the Wizarding World but when someone else offers to do it they don’t bother to be grateful & instead see only an enemy. This is the nice thing about yr. Lord, he is quite fed up with what he calls the aged & corrupt at Hogwarts & the Ministry, & says we need young persons like me & Snuffles & YOU.

Well I don’t know why he asked after Snuffles, he’s only ever met him a few times. For that matter I don’t know why he asked after you either. He will be in Hogsmeade with the Dolohovs in January, oh dear & you plan to study for N.E.W.T.S. so I expect you can’t go.

Did you know he plans to call his younger followers the Death Eaters when the movement picks up steam, now there’s something ridiculous to it you must say. I suggested he change it to the Muggle-Killers or something, much more to the point & will inspire the proper amount of fear. Well he says that might not be savvy politically, but you know I don’t want to be a silly Death Eater if old Abraxas Malfoy gets to be a proper Knight of Walpurgis, darling it doesn’t seem fair.

Yr. Drom  
-

Alconleigh, Oxfordshire

25 December 1968

You, my horrible DROM!

It is not a ridiculous name, it is positively clever. Don’t you see the blood-traitors are all up in arms about him already, so something like Death Eaters is very sly & tells them that the group is strong without revealing too much. & fear is not all of it anyway, only a very small part because I expect when people see that he plans to restore the Wizarding World they will understand better & so we will hardly need to use much force.

If I’m late responding it is only because yesterday he Owled & sent SIGNED copies of his latest pamphlet. Cissy’s says, ‘To the sweet Miss Narcissa Black,’ & yours says, ‘To the fierce Miss Andromeda Black,’ & mine says, ‘To the clever Bellatrix Black.’ Well nothing personal Dromda but he didn’t bother to call me MISS, so there you are it is something personal. & just after you wrote & said he mentioned me! I spent all yesterday in a dream, NOTHING I receive today can be better than that.

Here it is rather quiet, Cissy sent our gifts already & yours is the dearest floral cloak. She’s written to say she’s quitting the Quidditch team to spend more time with Lucius, I think that’s awfully stupid. Mum keeps asking in that roundabout way of hers about Dolph, such a bother. I told her marrying him might be worth it because he lives nowhere near Alconleigh. Well be nice to the boys & give Snuffles my love especially.

Yr. Bricks  
p.s. Say say say you will come to Hogsmeade with me when he’s there, oh Drom PLEASE.  
-

12 Grimmauld Place, London  
25 December 1968

Well I don’t know why he went & did that. If he Owled 3 copies to Alconleigh direct then I do think we could have understood that he meant the 3 sisters of Alconleigh to have them. Maybe he thinks we are stupid, how awful. Probably he won’t accept us as Death Eaters, no wonder you were out of commission yesterday, I expect you were crying in the elves’ cupboard. Still it’s very kind of him though obviously I’ve already read it, it will be a nice memento when he’s Minister.

& anyway does this mean I don’t need to give you that lovely comb you wanted from Borgin’s? Oh dear & I already bought & wrapped it special for my Bricks. As for Hogsmeade, OF COURSE.

Drom  
-

Hogwarts School of Witchcraft & Wizardry  
13 January 1968

Dearest Snuffles,

Who do you think we saw today? It was Lord Voldemort. We waited for hours near this horrible little pub in Hogsmeade in the freezing cold, & my darling began to complain because her feet hurt in those awful boots Burgie insisted on her buying.

Yr. mother. The WORST.

Eventually he came & noticed us at once & said hello so charmingly. He is the dearest, he took us to a much lovelier establishment & bought us butterbeer. Then we just sat & talked for hours. He & my darling laugh over the slightest thing together; he says she’s too clever for words. We told him all about school & he didn’t even mind although I’m sure he has much more important things to focus on, but he always takes time for us which I am far far beyond grateful for.

I had to leave early because of my studies which I thought was awfully unfair but there you are. I have to take N.E.W.T.s to be an Unspeakable. Lord V doesn’t mind because he thinks I shall be terrific at it which of course is the greatest encouragement of all. Drom stayed but said she would be after me soon enough & on the way back I found some mud coming down the path heavily laden down with books. He asked which way to school, was very stupid & had no sense of direction, & I pointed him back to where Dromda & Lord V were instead. Too funny. I only thought to point him in the wrong way as a prank, but instead the stupid fool blundered right into where Lord V & all his friends were meeting & had to be carted up to the infirmary that afternoon! He pinned the whole thing on my darling because you know how his sort are, no sense of humor & also frightfully vengeful. Slugs is making her clean bedpans without magic for a week, she’s terribly upset about it though she covers it with jokes. I always know her real feelings & let me tell you darling when I get him on his own that Dud Danks (or whatever his name is) is a dead man.

Lots of love,  
Bibby  
-

Hogwarts School of Witchcraft & Wizardry  
15 January 1968

BOYS:

Your favorite cousin has won herself a months’ detention! Poor Nar, she was top of her class & hadn’t ever lost a single point, had a very big head about it. Last week she even said, Meddles, darling, YOU could be so good if only you’d try, though it’s a bit late for Bella to begin behaving herself!

There was no hope for her; I was ready to give up on the child.

But now I think she has come around to the side of the mischief-makers. I’m stuck up in the infirmary cleaning bedpans without magic & she decided she’d sneak me my wand. Very daring, very admirable. If only she hadn’t gotten into some trouble along the way. A Huffleprefect docked fifty points. Fifty, children. Even I have never lost fifty in one go, you must say when Nar goes bad she does it awfully well.

Oh & Snuff, don’t let the infant worry about the Hogsmeade incident, Bricks goes on & on because she feels guilty over me cleaning bedpans but really it isn’t so bad. The fellow in question is this Hufflepuff mooncalf named Ted Tonks who apparently used to stare at me across the great hall all the time & Bricks now has ideas about untoward advances but really. He’s kind enough to clean out his own bedpan, that is all.

Oh, fine. I shall tell the truth. It has blossomed into the most intense romance. Clean bedpans are really what I look for in a man.

Dropsbody  
-

Hogwarts School of Witchcraft & Wizardry  
16 January 1968

Dearest Ally, dearest Snuffles,

I know Meddles has already written so I won’t repeat the details. But I am FURIOUS. My record—which was perfect—is now ruined, my week is ruined because I’m in detention & cannot spend time with Lu, Pug Parkinson shouts “here comes Miss Fifty Points!” every time I enter the common room, Meddles STILL has to clean bedpans by hand which is disgusting & should not have to be borne by anyone, & all because of some Hufflepuff prefect who Lu says will never even amount to anything.

Lu has been tremendously understanding & a comfort about the whole thing, though really he suffers as well because he cannot see me as much. Bella & Meddles of course find it hysterical, Bella said she had no idea I was capable of hexing seven Gryffindors at once but of course the thing is I have before, I’ve just never been caught! & anyway they deserved it, they were saying rude things about Meddles over something stupid that happened in Hogsmeade.

The worst part of it really is that Meddles had her punishment extended by default because no one would believe she hadn’t put me up to it, she & Bella are known to be such troublemakers & I am not so Slugs thinks when I protest I am only covering for her. He dragged me up to confront her about this & the poor thing was being made to attend to the same mud that ratted her out in the first place, this awful boy who Lu has told me has the most repulsive ideas about her. He watches her across the Great Hall all the time. I told her & Bricks this but Meddles only joked about it which just shows she is being very good about the whole thing. I didn’t even mind when she began making those barbed little comments of hers: “Oh Nar I do hope you & I never find ourselves on opposite sides of anything; you are likely to come out on top!”

I cannot believe she finds that funny, but then you know how she is & I suppose Bella & I must bear it because really Meds isn’t responsible for this or Hogsmeade but is being punished for all of it. Poor darling, I must make it up to her.


	4. Chapter 4

Harry did not return by the next morning. Neither did Andromeda. Regulus appeared at the breakfast table a full two hours earlier than he normally did, clutching baby Teddy under one arm and warding Kreacher off with another. He thought Kreacher should go rest. The fact was, Kreacher was not a young elf and had done a tremendous amount of work lately. Kreacher complied after a great deal of furious protest. Regulus looked worriedly at Ginny and George.

“I hope you don’t think I’m being cruel,” he said. “Only Kreacher works himself far too hard. He needs to be retired, really.” 

“To the wall with the elf heads?” George said.

Regulus glared at him. To respectable marriage with an elf bride, with perhaps some elf young to train in his duties around the house. Kreacher ought to have done it years before, in accordance with elf custom, but was married to his work and had never found the time. Ginny and George both rolled their eyes at this. Evidently the house-elf supply around Grimmauld Place was running low. Hermione would have said Regulus was replenishing his slave stock. 

Teddy chose this moment to begin wailing. Regulus, suddenly without his elf, looked panicky and couldn’t decide what to do. After a few seconds he hit on an idea and removed the spoon from the jar of pumpkin marmalade. This he plopped into Teddy’s mouth. Teddy quieted, and Regulus became a picture of relief. 

“Well, look at that,” George said wryly. “You can function without an elf.”

“Do you think that’s what an elf would have done?” Regulus asked.

“We all know perfectly well an elf would have carried on much better,” George said.

Regulus without an elf around was a thought not worth contemplating. There was a kind of funny and helpless innocence to Regulus, except of course then you thought about it and realized funny was not the right word at all. The truth was: he could barely handle normal conversation without saying or doing something terrifically embarrassing, foolishly old-fashioned, or outright bigoted. Neither George nor Ginny, however, ever pointed this out to him. Even Weasleys knew better than to criticize someone who’d offered them his house and library. After a few minutes, during which Teddy sucked happily on the spoon and then his cousin’s finger, Ginny ventured to ask where the baby’s grandmother was. 

Regulus had no idea. She wasn’t dead, obviously. Neither Ginny nor George knew how this could be obvious. 

“Families have ways of knowing,” Regulus said. 

Ginny supposed the Blacks had something like Mum’s whereabouts-monitoring clock. Most families weren’t quite that anxiously controlling, but if anyone could match Mum it would be the Blacks. 

“I’ve sent an owl to Shookerbolt just in case,” Regulus said. “He seems like a good sort, but you never know. He might’ve ordered her into the field or something. Drops always wanted to be an auror, though she doesn’t have the character for it. But he might have given in to her requests for something exciting to do; she’s the type that can make you give in. All the girls were.”

At this moment a Prophet owl arrived, comfirming this. The headline was **THRILLING FAMILY DRAMA AT THE MINISTRY!** Beneath this there was a photo of Malfoy, Narcissa, and Regulus exiting the Minister’s inner office. Regulus had a sleeve pushed up to reveal his unmarked forearm, Narcissa Malfoy wore the only smile Ginny had ever seen on her (fantastically beautiful; pity about her relentlessly evil ideology and disgusting husband and child), and Malfoy was at least captured at an angle that made him appear less ferrety than usual. The article detailed the terms of Malfoy’s probation, Narcissa’s heroism on the day of the last battle and completely charming attempts to undo the evils committed by those less beautiful and charismatic members of her family, and how shockingly handsome and alive their missing cousin Regulus was. 

“Narcissa Malfoy saved Harry’s life?” Ginny said.

“And Harry pleaded her case before Kingsley and ‘the very whole of the wizarding world’?” George said.

“That’s too much. It was mostly a crowd of people who didn’t have anything better to do,” Regulus said. Ginny and George blinked at him. He began to nervously bounce Teddy on his knee, and, without meeting their eyes, explained that actually Harry hadn’t meant to do any of that; that had been a setup of his and Blonty’s.

“But she did save his life,” he finished. “If only for that rather lackluster offspring of hers.”

“Met him, have you?” George said.

Unfortunately, Regulus had. 

“A credit to your character that you didn’t much like the slimy little worm,” said George.

Ginny said, “That’s giving Regulus too much credit.” 

She could understand Harry’s upset now: it was wrong and cowardly to trick someone like that, and then to cap it off with something like this Prophet article seemed the worst kind of insult.

“’Harry Potter spoke the truth only reluctantly; it seems the hero of the hour resents sharing the spotlight with anyone else’,” Ginny quoted. “’Many fear that Potter will become the next Voldemort’—how does that relate? Oh, Rita Skeeter. I see. ‘By contrast, Mrs. Malfoy, ever a defender of the best traditions of our world, treated everyone present with enormous graciousness. Perhaps she is genuinely ready to atone for her family’s misdeeds—’”

“Rather not,” said Regulus.

“At least you admit it,” said George.

“We rarely atone. It’s not in our nature,” Regulus said. 

Blonty hadn’t been as gracious as he’d thought her capable of; in fact she’d only offered a few people some things the family didn’t want anymore, and robes or hats or apologetic notes on very nice parchment to the rest. This was only simple politeness. Anyway, he was not on speakers with her just now. He suspected she had lied to him about something.

“Like you lied to Harry?” Ginny said.

Regulus sighed. Unable to come up with a riposte, he changed the subject. Well, what was he going to do about the baby? He didn’t even like babies very much, only this one was family so he would have to take care of it to the best of his ability. Neither Ginny nor George was surprised to learn that his abilities were limited in this respect. He’d never taken Care of Magical Creatures or Defense up to N.E.W.T. level, so the care of potentially-lycanthropic babies was, quite frankly, beyond him. If he were an elf things like this would never happen; he’d be well able to handle babies or in fact anything, but as it was he only had a few talents: flying and dueling and hunting and crup-rearing and the Dark Arts. Really the whole thing was Burgie and her male’s fault; they’d never let him pursue anything else.

Ginny and George very pointedly did not ask about Burgie or her male.

“Well, what are you doing today?” Regulus said.

George was very quick to say not taking care of babies. He had a few promising research leads to follow up on. Also this was not in any way his baby or his problem; probably Regulus should call in Mum, who was well equipped to handle babies and had always had a soft spot for Tonks. Ginny shot him a nasty look. Mum at Grimmauld Place was the last thing she wanted. George did not catch the look; Regulus evidently did.

“I’m not sure your mother would appreciate it,” he said quickly. “Anyway I wasn’t trying to force Teddy onto anyone else; he’s awfully quiet and sweet for a baby. Hardly a Black child at all, so I suppose I can take him with me. I’m going to Knockturn to pick up some things.”

“Ghoul bile?” George asked hopefully. This was one of the ingredients in the cadaver potion, the only ingredient that could not be found in quantities around Grimmauld Place.

Regulus looked at him oddly.

“I can certainly add it to the list,” he said. Ginny thought this was a terrible idea. She followed Regulus to the door before he left and said so.

“I’ll just tell him they were out,” Regulus said. “That is, if you’re nice enough to come along with me.”

Ginny didn’t particularly want to. Regulus looked at her with pleading grey eyes and explained that he hadn’t actually been out in public in a very long time and needed some support; also that he would probably drop Teddy in a gutter and forget about him because this was an infant caring for an infant, really; and also that her mother was likely to show up at any moment, once she realized that Ginny was alone with a Death Eater and George.

Ginny supposed he had a point. And George really couldn’t get his hands on that ghoul bile. Knockturn it was. 

Regulus dragged her to Borgin & Burke’s; warned her not to touch anything; pulled on gloves made of very tough leather so that he could touch things; and wrapped Teddy very firmly in his scarf, charming it so that baby couldn’t reach out chubby little fingers and accidentally come into contact with a hand of glory. Teddy cooed appreciatively. Ginny supposed that, talentless or not, Regulus wasn’t actually half-bad at this baby thing. 

“You don’t like your mother very much,” Regulus said, once the shop girl had shown them to a table piled with eye-catching, highly-dangerous ornaments. 

“I love my mum,” Ginny said, affronted.

“Yes, but you don’t like her. I quite understand,” Regulus said.

Ginny would have hexed him if he weren’t holding the baby. “Shut up. She’s lovely!”

“I know she is,” Regulus said calmly. “I wasn’t referring to whether I thought she was likeable. I only meant that sometimes you can love people tremendously and still not like them. Case in point: myself and Blonty right now.”

Ginny wasn’t going to admit to not liking her mum to a non-Weasley like Regulus Black, so she pointed out that Mum did an enormous amount of work and was always unappreciated, that she put up with her children’s eccentricities rather better than most witches, that she was incredibly loyal and very brave, and that in fact she had saved Ginny from Bibby; so of course she liked her mum.

“But now you can never forget that she killed to save your life: you owe her,” Regulus said, in a tone that suggested he understood completely how terrible it was to know you owed someone you didn’t like as much as you should. 

“Stuff it and stop talking about my mum,” Ginny said. The last thing she wanted was Regulus Black thinking he understood her family; someone like Regulus Black had no business pitying the Weasleys. The superior little snot. She hoped he would say something horrible so that she could focus her efforts on correcting him; then she wouldn’t have to think about Mum. 

But he only raised an eyebrow knowingly and began to ask her opinion on which of these cursed vases she thought Kreacher might like. They were all equally hideous and Ginny told him so, so he selected one at random and they were off to find fairy thread.

“This is the only thing for the bed hangings,” Regulus said. Kreacher could hardly be expected to work with anything else. 

Also they shopped for vast quantities of rare wood, ingredients (thankfully no ghoul bile) for various kinds of super-adhesive potions, marble expensive and lovely enough to outfit the Black family toilets, metals precious enough to serve for knobs and door handles, and so on. Regulus put in that he was hardly as good at spotting quality as Burgie and the male had been; he’d not been sufficiently trained for it. Sirius had received most of the instruction, at least until he’d Sorted. Still, Regulus understood some of what was required of him. And Kreacher was so terribly forgiving of his inadequacies; Kreacher was a marvel like that.

At several points he stopped and remembered to burp Teddy, or to change him with a flick of his wand, or to feed him milk or more pumpkin marmalade. This was not because Teddy complained very much; actually Teddy seemed to have his father’s personality and hardly complained at all. Only for someone who repeated endlessly that he had no idea what to do with babies, Regulus was terribly solicitous of this one. 

Teddy might be a Dark Creature but he was still Drops’s grandson, you know. Well how could he face Drops if he’d treated Teddy badly. How could he. And anyway it wasn’t Teddy’s fault that he was a Dark Creature; that was just what happened when people like Dropsbody went off and married Muggles and then expected their children to remember that werewolves made awful mates. How could Nymphadora have been expected to know that, given her background? And so it wasn’t her fault, and obviously it wasn’t Teddy’s fault either.

“Teddy’s perfectly human,” Ginny said flatly. “And you’re a bigot.”

Regulus blinked at her. “Is he confirmed human, really? Oh, good.”

The accusation of bigotry didn’t seem to faze him. Ginny tried again: “You’re horribly prejudiced.”

“Of course,” he said, as though he didn’t see anything wrong with this. Ginny stared at him. 

She had a sudden urge to embarrass him; only he didn’t seem to think there was anything to be embarrassed about. He would only say that he did think one ought to have common sense about these things, but that of course sometimes people closed their minds rather too quickly.

“Your family was terribly nice about my having been a Dark Creature. I’ve got to be grateful that they didn’t hold that against me,” he said. “I would’ve held that against me. Oh, look. Mermaid-carved pearl. Kreacher’s been dying for this; I’ll put in an order for masses of the stuff.”

Oddly enough, this proved to be the worst part of the day. It was odd because the rest of the day ought to have been terrible. Regulus ran hot and cold. He could do something wonderful, like fuss over his infant cousin, and somehow remind you that he held disgusting opinions while doing so. And then he could do dreadful things and somehow make them enjoyable. For example, to Ginny, who rarely talked about Voldemort and still more rarely wanted to talk about Voldemort, Regulus made the mistake of pointing out where Voldemort’s original headquarters had been.

“That was where His Vileness—oh, I suppose I can say his name now. Voldemort. No. Forget that, Kreacher tells me it was Tom. How perfectly ordinary; I bet he hated it.”

“He did,” Ginny said, wanting to pass over the topic as quickly as possible. “Relic of his pathetic Muggle forbears, etcetera.”

There was some humor there in the fact that Tom had been a half-Muggle blood supremacist, but Ginny had only ever been able to appreciate it in an intellectual way, never able to see it as actually funny. 

Weasleys were always laughing or poking fun; it was a family trait, to be able to make even small bits of cruelty hilarious, given the right context and the right pack of sneering Slytherins to spring it on. But there was no right context for what had happened to her. She’d been used and carved open and possessed; that was all. It was small, and ugly, and evil – just as small and ugly and evil as wonderful older-boy Tom had been, in the end, and the in fact the one person who might have been able to understand what she’d been through – Harry – never even brought it up with her. Probably out of some bizarre backwards notion of respect, probably because he thought it would harm her to pull her out of her cozy safe present and dump her back into the worst year of her life.

And it had never occurred to Ginny that Harry might be wrong about this. The only people she ever spoke about Tom to, really, were Hermione and the twins; and then only in an oblique way, because Hermione could not take the sting out of what happened with some humor, while the twins simply could not wrap their heads around Tom, who’d been thrilling and disappointing, evil and normal, abusive and comforting, large and small, and all at once.

But now Regulus was pointing at a drab, sad, Knockturn Alley shop front, discussing You-Know-Who, no, Voldemort, no, Tom in broad daylight.

And he of course knew firsthand that Tom had once been terribly impressive ( _terribly_ , Ginny, you have no idea how he could reel one in, there was a sort of sparkle to him), but all that time. All that time. Part _Muggle_.

And probably obsessed with hiding it, the little traitor.

“Traitor?” Ginny said. She didn’t much want to defend Tom, but if Regulus was admitting that he thought being part-Muggle made you a traitor to the Wizarding World, then he was speaking in the parlance of Muggle-Born Registration and it wasn’t about Tom at that point, not really. It was about Regulus needing a hex to the face.

“Of course. Traitor to his heritage,” said Regulus. “If I were half Muggle I should want to support the Muggles at least half of the time, myself. I mean, it’s only natural. More’s the pity for those that are half Muggle, because they must be very cut up inside about it, torn between two worlds. I was always relieved it never fell to _me_ to live like that. But, you know?” 

Here he did something very peculiar. Very odd. His chin went up, his eyes narrowed, his wide mouth, normally so inoffensively turned up at the corners in a kind of vapid half-smile, bent itself into a sneer, and there was – Ginny did not know how else to explain it – a kind of Darkness to him. For the first time that she’d known him.

“You know,” Regulus said, his voice deep with humor, though not his normal inadvertent humor, more a kind of deliberate and morbid thing that put Ginny in mind of his brother, “I can’t think of a more fitting punishment for him. Than to be torn apart like that. It’s dreadful for people, just horrible. That’s why I wouldn’t wish Muggle parentage on nearly anyone. But for him.” Regulus shifted Teddy to one hip, so he could better spread out one arm in front of him, like a child reaching out to grasp a particularly lovely display at Honeydukes. “He was the worst kind of person in ways that had nothing to do with his parentage, you know; not a wicked half-blood at all, like one is warned about in the cradle. Really wicked half-bloods who are wicked because of their blood and not because of being genuinely wicked of course can’t help what they are, so there’s something sad and lovely about them. But there wasn’t any of that about him. He was simply a bad man. And he shrugged on that loveliness and sadness and took people in, took the world in; he was a deceiver. Dishonest. He made dupes of everyone. And so being cut up and part Muggle is absolutely fitting for him. It couldn’t have happened to a better person.”

So, all in all, Regulus found the fact that Tom’s Muggle blood hilarious. Probably for the wrong reasons. No, definitely for the wrong reasons.

But he also seemed to understand Tom not as a very large threat, though Tom had almost certainly been that. No, he saw Tom as what Ginny had intimately known him as: a very small liar. Ginny felt that his sudden shift, his transformation into a kind of pseudo-Sirius, someone laughing about cruel things that were not really very funny, was less because he was genuinely laughing. And more because, on some level, he was humiliated. He’d been taken in. He hadn’t boldly followed someone great; he’d simply been, like Ginny, a dupe. 

Tom’s crimes were bigger than deception, of course. They existed on a vast scale, crimes against humanity. But it was funny how, if you personally had been deceived, _that_ could sometimes feel so much bigger to you, so much more terrible.

“Dishonest?” Ginny asked. “Most people would say he was evil, a monster—”

“Well of course, but monster is such a big word,” Regulus said irritably. “It’s grand. People used to call him that even in the early days, you know, and he adored it. And we adored it. Bibby was mad for her little monster, and she would gladly tell you about it, if you asked. ‘There’s my glorious monster lord.’ Because monsters are _exciting_. But I won’t give him that. Not now. He was a half-Muggle charlatan, who promised things he had no intention of delivering on.”

Though the half-Muggle bit explained the pamphleteering. Did she know that Tom was once into pamphleteering? He was. Here were his former pamphleteering headquarters. He’d been a horribly florid writer (Ginny already knew this, but she didn’t tell him so), and so the pamphlets had all had titles like: The Precious Price of Might, Struggles of the Blood, Valorous Purity Calls, and so on.

This was, strangely enough, the kind of observation that took the sting out of Tom. 

Ginny hadn’t been expecting it, but there it was. The monster of her childhood had once lurked behind a pathetic Knockturn shopfront. And while lurking there, trying to catch the ears of silly pureblood sods like Regulus Black, he’d published things with titles like cheap knut parlor dramas.

Ginny couldn’t help it. She laughed. It was so ridiculous, so unexpected, that it was funny. 

“They did sound just like cheap paperbacks,” Regulus said, when she explained. “Oh, I can’t believe we never picked up on the silliness there. And us calling ourselves hounds! And yet we all took it so seriously, Ginny, even as he sat knee deep in printing charms churning out pamphlets that put one in mind of the Witch Weekly novella—do they still do that? Those ridiculous stories for little girls?”

This was horrible to hear just then, but it made Ginny laugh even more. Half-maniacally (she hadn’t really laughed since Fred had died, so this seemed to be bubbling up from some secret and long-ignored place, and she suspected it made her look crazy), but still with a kind of relief, because of course. Of course Tom had always been so small. He’d had a terrible impact on the universe; but, for her, he’d been the tiniest of monsters, a sham, something so little and personal that it became terrible almost on a level you didn’t want to admit. You didn’t want to discuss how stupid you had to have been to be taken in, how pathetically you’d wanted some kind of great romance.

And yet here Regulus was discussing it. Tom as an everyday monster, a boring creature, really; just another fraud, and himself another fool. And Ginny could understand that. Harry’s struggle with Tom had been cosmic, enormous, world-changing. But Ginny’s had been mostly humiliating. And she had always approached the memory of it with a kind of uneasiness. It had made her stronger, but only because she’d abandoned the little girl she’d been, chosen to see it as in some ways her fault, and resolved to become a stronger, tougher, more intense person. More like a Weasley boy. More like _Harry_.

And she didn’t regret that choice. But still. Still, there was a strange kind of relief in discovering that she wasn’t the only one who’d been a stupid child. And that there was truth in her take on Tom. Tom wasn’t half as grand as he’d thought he was; apparently, he never had been. It was a hard thing to consider, that someone could have such a horrible impact on the world, leave such a great and dreadful mark, and yet be so small and vilely mundane all at once. But that was Tom. Tom exactly as Ginny had known him. And, viciously, happily, it occurred to Ginny the great bits had only been tacked on, pretend: the horror all the result of a series of small swindles, of Tom duping stupid, racist purebloods. Tom duping them as a small-time Knockturn writer, with silly little titles, and make-believe glory, and with _pamphlets_. 

“I think Tom missed his true calling,” she said, still laughing.

Regulus didn’t seem to note anything odd about her laughter, which was nice. Ginny wouldn’t have known how to begin explaining about the diary horcrux, and anyway, this was something of a personal moment for her. 

No, Regulus just happened to be near, throwing out comments like, “Valorous Purity Calls sounds like it might be about a Gryffindor named Purity who runs off to tame dragons in the Alps. Years later, she returns and throws her proper pureblood family into to a tizzy. Why has she finally come home? What secrets does she hide?”

“And will she marry the half-blood dragon tamer who followed her back to England?” Ginny put in, giddy. “Or Bilious, the pureblood Slytherin she was betrothed to at birth?”

“Who, in the meantime,” said Regulus, “Has carried on a torrid affair with her proud twin sister, Humility.”

“I don’t understand how Valorous Purity Calls came to be about anything else,” Ginny said.

It was such a terrible thing to be talking about. You-Know-Who-no-Voldemort-no-Tom. But she was still half-laughing. Regulus’s grim cheer was beginning to deepen into real cheer. And even Teddy was gurgling happily. During a conversation about Tom Marvolo Riddle. 

“Yes, that’s where he operated,” Regulus said, putting on the voice of someone reminiscing very fondly. “Even while we thought he was so grand. So, so grand. Our very own Tommy Question.”

And at that Ginny really did laugh. Not because she was figuring things out, or because she hadn’t laughed in so long, or because a kind of mania had overtaken her.

Simply because it was funny.


	5. Chapter 5

1313 Knockturn Alley, London  
19 July, 1971

  
Oh Snuff. So many marvelous things are happening, with such great promise for the world, & what are your Aunt & Uncle thinking of.

W E D D I N G S.  
How utterly boring, Snuff. They think I am only a little girl. I want to die.  
Bibby

-

1313 Knockturn Alley, London  
19 July, 1971

Snuff,

I expect it’s Nar’s fault. Of course the dear is in love, but she’s gone and selected the most boring bit of Wiltshire shrubbery to tie herself to, so the parents are all aflutter about it & pressuring my Bricks to do the same.

As for me I’m not sure I’ll get married. To hear Nar talk the life of an affianced witch is all peacock breeding and sneering at Pug Parkinson. Anyway no one in our circle is worth marrying. They’re all very small people who think they are big. To hear Risky Skeeter & the Mulches talk it is all Purity Honor Blood Breeding, but then they start to squabble about dress robes and broomsticks and regulation cauldrons & one becomes so bored, the life of a budding Defeeter is charmless.

Bricks is a stunning innocent so she is still charmed by it all. Me, I prefer big people who think they are small, you know, the Hufflepuffs of the world. I expect they’re the inverse of us, they are all Dress Robes Cauldrons Witch Weekly but they must be hiding terrific inner depths I was talking to one the other day (don’t tell Bricks, she is a believer in house separatism & will have a fit), & he made me laugh because he is actually putting together a cataloguing system for the MLE, but hadn’t thought to tell me about it, on account of dress robes being something he thought I would be more interested in. Anyway I haven’t laughed that hard in days, because between Risks Skeeter & Nar the married woman I am so bored I want to kill myself.

No. Them.

I can swear someone (that Leola Peverell woman?) printed a piece about how we silly children supporting Lord V. don’t understand that soon we will be partaking in the ritual killings of Muggles, but the killings, when they start up, should really be directed inward, I think. Just to make our whole whole group dynamic a little more lively.  
Dropsbody

  
-

Alconleigh, Oxfordshire  
22 July 1971

Al-Araby my derest little sheik:

Perhaps you would like to come spend a few days with me? Sisses are in Knockturn for the latest Lord V. hearing (poor Lord V.!) & they’ve left Nary-a-sis by herself, oh they are cruel. I’m comforted by the Malfoys, though. Abraxas & Lukasta say MP must show off a certain WWH when the Minister comes. It’s very stupid of me, but darling I’m just touched by that.

It will be divine except all Malfoy elves are terrified of me because I can cook. They say things like, “Mistress Narcissa is not to goes anywhere near the kitchens or Myrmidon will eats his own young!” You like elves, say you’ll come & tame them for me. It will be a bother to move in to them threatening to iron their ears if I so much as pick up a frying pan. Burgie & her male are caught up with Snuffles right now & Mum & Father with these hearings. I do believe you & I will have to entertain ourselves. Say say say you will come, there’s a good hound. You can bring your elf if you like.  
Blonty

-

  
Malfoy Manor, Wiltshire  
29 July 1971

Dear Snuff,

The food here is awfully good. They had gillyweed salad this morning so I spent all afternoon with webbing between my toes but rather worth it, & their pumpkin punch is something else. The elves are all a tremendous sort & let me see the menus beforehand, really excellent of them, though of course I tell Kreacher not nearly as good as him.

Blonty sends her love, her Mister M says he hopes you’ll be a credit to Slytherin come fall. You know she loves him but he & his father are so domineering that sometimes I think I will faint when they corner me. I hope Drops settles for somebody better. I cannot believe about Bibby finally saying yes to Dolph, Cygnus says she only did it because no one could bear to see Blonty marry first.

The Minister is here & so worked up about what M calls the politiCULL clYYYmIIIT (much knowing wagging of the eyebrows accompanies this). All the Malfoys think his upset is funny but of course they won’t say so to his face. Blonty says they’ve only invited the Minister because he’d be a nuisance at the hearings & would ruin everything, rather understandable he’s frightfully bad conversation & you know me I don’t even talk much.

They have a baby elf here who is so funny & doesn’t even want his tea towel. He said he should like to see the world & I said, Dobby, one cannot do that unless one has gainful employment, & Blonty laughed & laughed. Dobby’s odd but very clever, wish he were mine I would treat him so well. M says he’s a bad egg & increased his potion dosage, plans also to punish him more often. I said I hoped he’ll run away if they do that. M thinks I’m stupid now I guess. I don’t know Snuffles, I wish house-elves could leave if they had to, sometimes people don’t treat them so well. Do be nicer to Kleanner if only for me, she’s getting on in years. & have fun shopping for Hogwarts, get yourself a TOAD they are all the rage I really want one, Love RAB

-

1313 Knockturn Alley, London  
July 29, 1971

My dear Snuffles,

You really should come see the hearings, my Lord is being so wonderful about the whole thing. Today this very ugly squinting old woman with masses of untidy hair, Mrs. Pevril-Potter or Porter-Peverall I have no idea, like it matters with blood traitors honestly, said in a very rude way: What you are doing, VOLDEMORT, is spreading HATE like a CANCER throughout the wizarding world.

And he only looked at her calmly and said, “Madam, what I am spreading is that cancer called hope, hope for those children who are denied the full grandeur of their magic so that persons like you can condescend to those lowly and commonplace masses that, quite frankly, contribute very little to the preservation of our society.”

He was perfect, so collected and clever and GRAND in every particular. When he speaks to one, it is like seeing a great vision of all the beautiful things this world all spread out. Simply the highest person, a poet. & they call him a monster! Well if he is to be a monster then I will gladly call him my monster. I cannot understand how people can’t adore him as I do. Well, yes I can because most of them don’t get to spend nearly as much time with him, they are not so lucky as I am!

It kills me that Burgie still goes on and on about holes in his background, oh my love your mum can be such a TROLL. Anyway Dromda will be by later, do make sure Burgie isn’t awful to her. She gets enough upset at the hearings, glares at the mudbloods the whole time. My Lord doesn’t mind, he says it’s the right attitude because there will be war if the hearings don’t go well. He is rather impressed with her & says she’s the finest witch he’s ever seen, your Bibby is a bit jealous. Anyway you know what it is it’s that Dead Danks who keeps coming to the hearings & staring at her so rudely, he’s still bitter about the Hogsmeade incident I bet. This is part of the problem, love: muds never let things go. War is what they want, I think. For my Lord’s sake I hope there is a better way, people must not give in to them. All he wants is to set the world right.  
All my love, Bellatrix

-

12 Grimmauld Place, London  
30 July 1971

ALPHARD:  
Why do you think Burgie won’t let me see Bibby’s Lord at the hearings, awful of her even Araby’s met him a dozen times & me only once or twice.

&did you hear there might be war, that’ll liven things up.

&don’t you think Rot isn’t good enough for Bibby come on Alphard she’s my favourite cousin you ought to get her to rethink this. Burgie says it’s a good match & so I can see she’s finally going mad, usually she’s so sensible about the girls being in danger of MARRYING UTTER FILTH. Obviously Bibby loves her Lord and her Lord just MIGHT be good enough for her, but WHO-WANTS-HER has to go & rush things with Mister Peacock. She deserves the washed-up bore, she’s so selfish. Even Dropsbody thinks she’s out of line & would rather talk to Hufflepuffs than her. Hufflepuffs. I know Wuh’s your pet but talk to her or something will you.  
From SB

Stands for Slytherin to-Be, aren’t you proud. Mum says she’ll get me a snake after Sorting, won’t that be fun I can terrify Araby with it. Regulus Alpha Leonis my left bludger. Oh just kidding. I try to be kind to the pup he’s got no friends. It’s me & the elves really & the elves are no one anyway. What will we do when he Sorts Hufflepuff Alphard. What. Just kidding obviously the hat can’t put hounds anywhere but Slytherin. He’ll be the dullest boy in the dungeons that’s all.

-

Malfoy Manor, Wiltshire  
30 July 1971

Dearest Meddles,

Alphard was here today, he doesn’t like MP very much. He called him little faithless & said I can do better. Such HYPOCRISY, after his goings on.

I never ever expected it of him. It was dreadful. I was cold until he left & then I locked myself in the dear little room they’ve given me here & shouted into a pillow for hours, he made me so furious talking about MP like that. I don’t think Alphard took it poorly though, he never does, & anyway he was too angry with Burgie to notice I was angry with him. He thinks Burgie using stinging hexes on the boys all the time is rather out of line. I agree about that, I would never hex mine.

He found little Ally in the elves’ room and said, “Your brother & cousins talk down to you, but they shouldn’t. You see, their cleverness overwhelms them. This makes them stupid indeed. You stay clear of that & I’ll support you wholeheartedly, you hear, even if you Sort Hufflepuff. For that matter, especially if you Sort Hufflepuff!” Can you imagine. Poor Al, Burgie & her male never bother with him & now Alphard does & it’s only to frighten him like that.

I wonder what Snuff did to set Alphard off. Probably another brilliant prank of his. Give Snuffles my love if you see him & all my love to you as well, darling. Bella says you’re not feeling well, I hope it isn’t serious. Do come home if you have to as I won’t be back in London this summer (things are too too thrilling at the Manor), but your Nar-sis will stop by Alconleigh & nurse you if necessary, she worships you so.  
Love, Nar.


End file.
